Masterpiece
by Diana Eleanor Gibby
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a professional painter who dreams of creating a masterpiece, when he meets a young Alfred F. Jones, who is everything he had ever imagined, and instantly wants to paint him. But soon, Alfred is gone, and Arthur struggles to create a painting worthy of the man he saw that day in the park.
1. Chapter 1

Masterpiece

D. E. Gibby

Arthur Kirkland is a professional painter who dreams of creating a masterpiece, when he meets a young Alfred F. Jones, who is everything he had ever imagined, and instantly wants to paint him. But soon, Alfred is gone, and Arthur struggles to create a painting worthy of the man he saw that day in the park.

_

"Bollocks," Arthur grumbled as he stared at his canvas. He had been trying to paint a landscape for hours, but every time he tried to paint a lake, he had to re-do it, frustrating him greatly. Everything looked beautiful, the trees, the clouds, the daffodils gracing the luscious grass, but no matter how hard he tried, his lake looked awful.

"That won't do at all," moaned Arthur. He pushed back his blond mop of hair and wiped his large brow, unknowingly smearing cerulean paint on his forehead. His art studio, which was a simple refurbished attic, was almost as messy as he was, with photographs, paints, brushes, and art strewn about precariously. The mahogany wood floors creaked and groaned, and the tall ceilings caused the entire attic to be drafty, but the cold wind and smell of drying paint comforted Arthur. Still, he was knackered from a grueling session. He looked down at his emerald apron sighed.

"I'm a mess," he muttered aloud. He had been working so furiously that he hadn't cared to noticed the time or state of his clothes. Arthur groaned. "I guess now would be a good time to clean up and take a break."

Alfred put down his palette and palette knife, took off his messy apron, and hung it on the rack next to the door. Once downstairs, Arthur made himself a calming cup of peppermint tea, and sat down at his table, lost in thought. He had been working so hard all day that he hadn't taken some time to clear his mind.

The faint smell of paint wafted down from the attic, and Arthur breathed in heavily. Arthur had lived alone since he was nineteen, so he had made his home quite cozy in the five years he had been there, and he loved it. His home was a slight small and old, in a secrete part of London, but Arthur liked it. The red roses scattered outside, the way the sun came through the vine covered windows, the old fireplace, even the off-white, peeling paint of the walls added a certain charm that made Arthur quite comfortable, even if his family lived quite far away. He was alone for the most part, but he was quite content living secluded where no one could yell at him for splattering paint on the attic floor, or for spilling bourbon on the rug. It meant he could do things his own way, and that pleased him.

After a bit of thinking, Arthur decided it would be best to take a walk to clear his mind and relax. He put on his coat, grabbed his house key, and hurried out the door to take a walk to the nearby park. It was a great place to think, take pictures for his landscapes, and take in the sunshine, when it wasn't rainy, and today was particular beautiful.

After a while of wandering around, Arthur heard a familiar voice. "Good day, Mr. Kirkland," an older woman smiled. Arthur nodded his head politely and smiled.

"Hello Mrs. Johnson," Arthur beamed. Mrs. Johnson lived near Arthur, and had once helped take care of him when he had a bad cold, which made her like a grandmother to him. "How are you today?"

"I'm quite well, thank you, Arthur," replied Mrs. Johnson, her wrinkled face smiling happily. "Oh, that reminds me, I made too many cookies yesterday, would you like be to bring some over later today?"

Arthur nodded. "That's sounds wonderful, thank you," Arthur said gratefully. He was sure that a warm snack would help his progress on his latest painting. Her warm chocolate chip cookies always made him feel better and motivated him to keep going.

"Well, I'll bring them around sometime tonight, I'll see you then," said Mrs. Johnson, winking cheerfully.

Arthur smiled. "Thank you, I can't wait to try them!" Arthur gave another polite nod to Mrs. Johnson and continued on his way, turning around to look at her once more as she hobbled cheerfully away.

Suddenly, Arthur felt someone bump hard into his shoulder, knocking him back and making him jump. "What the-" he turned around and came face to face with a bright faced man who was picking up his glasses.

"Sorry about that!" Said the young man, smiling at Arthur. Arthur stared. Judging by his accent, he was probably American, but Arthur couldn't get over how _handsome_ he was. His blond hair was messy, and his bomber jacket and glasses gave him a certain air that almost made Arthur's mouth hang open.

"It's alright," Arthur stuttered. He quickly attempted to brush if his coat and straighten himself out. _He's looks like a model,_ Arthur thought.

As if on cue, the American laughed. Arthur couldn't tell if he had done it to lighten the mood, or if this strange man laughed as a natural pastime. The American finally collected himself and spoke up. "The name's Alfred, Alfred F. Jones, what's yours?"

"Arthur Kirkland," he replied embarrassingly. Then, to his great surprise, the American _winked_ at him. _Oh no,_ Arthur though. _Has he figured me out? It's not that bloody obvious, is it?_

Alfred laughed again. It was a loud, boisterous laugh, but with every laugh, Arthur just became more and more entranced by him, though he hated to admit it. "That's a nice name," Alfred said. "I have to ask though, what's a man like you doing in a place like this?"

Arthur scoffed. "I could ask you the same thing," he replied. "You are American, aren't you?"

"America the beautiful," Alfred said, winking again. "I actually came here for a late senior trip, although, I happen to be by myself."

Arthur was stunned. "Senior trip?" He asked. _Just how old is he?_ Arthur had assumed he was at about his age, but perhaps he was mistaken.

"Well, very late senior trip," Alfred said. "I've always wanted to see London, but I had no one to come with me, so I just decided to buy a plane ticket and check it out by myself."

"How old are you?" Arthur asked. As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't. _I'm getting a little to familiar with him,_ Arthur thought. _You just met him, calm down._

"Nineteen, how old are you?"

"Twenty four," Arthur said. _Five bloody years old than him, and he's American. So why am I still talking to him?_ Arthur felt strange conversing with him, but he wanted to know more. _Please, tell me everything._

"Twenty four, huh?" Alfred replied. _Great, now he's going to stop talking to me,_ Arthur groaned inwardly. But to his surprise, Alfred did that _wink_ again. "That's alright, he smirked," making Arthur gulp. "I don't mind."

To Arthur, it would have been bad enough to have this American say something like that, but the wink made it even worse. Now, he was more embarrassed than ever. _Get out of here before you do something stupid._

"Well, I better go," Arthur stated somewhat blankly. "I have an, um, appointment later today, sorry." _What appointment?_ Arthur knew very well the only thing on his schedule today was a wonderful batch of cookies from Mrs. Johnson. But he had to get away from Alfred, he was too...

He couldn't quite think of what word described this extroverted American. _Handsome? Annoying? Boisterous?_

"Masterpiece," Arthur breathed _._ Alfred gave him a confused look.

"What did you say?"

"Ah, nothing, forget about it," Arthur muttered. "Just thinking to myself. Pleasant meeting you."

 _Get out of here,_ Arthur thought. Something about Alfred was too much for him to even comprehend, and every minute he had spent with him just drove him further and further down into a never-ending dream that he _had_ to wake up from.

"You too, Arthur Kirkland," Alfred smiled, breaking Arthur's train of thought. Arthur shuddered inwardly. It felt so good to hear him say his name.

"Good bye," Arthur said hurriedly, rushing quickly past Alfred so that he could go home. He wanted that face, that voice, those eyes, to stay in his memory. He longed for nothing more than to see those beautiful, icy eyes again. Everything about him seemed to dance in Arthur's mind, driving him mad with happiness.

Arthur had never quite felt this way before, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt. All he knew, all he cared about, even if it was just that moment, was Alfred.

Finally, Arthur rushed into the safety of his own home, locked the door, and closed his eyes, his heart beating furiously in his chest. "Alfred F. Jones, I will make you my masterpiece."

Author's note: Well, that was a rough first chapter. Thank you to anyone who actually stuck through to the end! If you want to look up the imagery I had for the park near Arthur's home, I suggest looking up _Postman's Park_ , in London, England.

A big thank you to those on Instagram for giving the motivation to attempt my very first USUK fanfic! I hope it wasn't too terribly dreadful so far.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Beige, no, buff," Arthur muttered distractedly, shuffling through old paints and photographs. Trying to find the perfect hair colour seemed to be more difficult than Arthur had initially thought.

Arthur had been desperately attempting to draw Alfred for the past few hours, and unsuccessfully at that. No matter how hard he tried, something about his sketch didn't feel right. The colour palette, the hair, even his jacket had to be perfect, just like Alfred. What bothered him most was those eyes: Alfred's eyes. He couldn't quite capture the humour, love, joy, and mischievousness he had seen in those eyes. The eyes that Arthur had fallen so deeply in love with.

"What am I doing wrong?" Arthur moaned. He stared at his sketch in distress and dissatisfaction. Broken pencil lead and eraser shavings littered the desk, and discarded papers covered the floor around his stool. He had been working so assiduously that he was very high-strung, and each failed attempt at a portrait only aggravated him further.

Arthur put down his pencil and sighed heavily. If only he could see him again, talk to him again, _love_ him again. But each time he erased, Alfred's face seemed to be pushed further and further back in his mind. "Where are you, Alfred?" Arthur fumed.

Soon, the sound of the doorbell snapped Arthur out of his state of distress. He shuffled down the stairs to the door, and was surprised to find that Mrs. Johnson had left a plate of cookies on his porch, but she was no where in sight. _I hope she couldn't hear me yelling and decided to leave,_ Arthur thought. To his surprise, the plate of cookies was still warm. "Mrs. Johnson, you sly old woman. You didn't make these yesterday, did you?"

Still, the warm smell of dough and chocolate lifted Arthur's spirits, and the thought of Mrs. Johnson reminded of the park, of Alfred. Arthur breathed in the aroma, sat down on the couch, and breathed in deeply.

"You're not going to give up on me, are you?" a familiar, American voice called. Arthur spun around quickly. There, standing behind him, was Alfred.

"A-Alfred? What are you doing here?" Arthur stammered. Arthur looked down at himself embarrassed. The furious painting, sketching, and now, sitting down lazily with a chocolate chip cookie in hand had made him quite messy.

"You're giving up on me," Alfred repeated sadly. The look on his face hurt Arthur's heart, he looked like a lost puppy.

"I'm not giving up on you, I'm just-" Arthur couldn't think of what to say. _Just what, Arthur?_

"You should've known painting me would be hard," Alfred smiled. "After all, its hard to capture my heroism and bravery all in one place." Arthur rolled his eyes, but smiled. Alfred sure knew how to lighten the mood.

"It's just, I've missed you, and I haven't known how to go about this whole thing, I'm so confused. I've never struggled with painting portraits before. Landscapes, maybe, but never portraits."

Arthur closed his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. Alfred kissed his eyelids gently, and Arthur shuddered at the warm touch of Alfred's lips. He had missed Alfred so badly it hurt. It hurt more than Arthur could explain. He had never felt so desperate to be with someone, to love someone, as he had with Alfred. _I just met you,_ Arthur thought. _So why do I feel like this when I'm with you?_

"It's okay, Arthur," Alfred whispered gently. "I miss you too. But I believe in you. You can do anything you set your mind to, I know it." Arthur smiled through his tears. Being with Alfred filled him with more happiness, love, and hope than he had ever thought was possible. He never wanted to moment to end, but Alfred's words ended his trance. "If you want to see me again, finish the portrait. I'll be waiting for you then."

Arthur bolted awake. _A dream?_ Arthur thought. It had felt so real, so beautiful, that part of Arthur didn't want to believe he had fallen asleep at all. But still, he knew it was impossible. Alfred, here? That American couldn't even find his way around London, let alone to his house.

Arthur sighed. "I have to finish you," Arthur nodded determinedly. "I will see you again."

Soon, Arthur's furious sketching had shown progress. He looked at Alfred's face on the canvas and smiled. It was wonderful. Alfred's messy, blond hair, fair skin, glasses, jacket, and, more importantly, his eyes. Those twinkling eyes stared back at Arthur happily, and Arthur almost thought hear could hear Alfred whisper, " _I love you."_

 _Authors note:_ This chapter was a little short, but I hoped it wasn't terrible. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Arthur could barely believe his own abilities. For days now, Arthur had been sketching, painting, cursing, and painting again. But the thought of seeing Alfred filled him with such determination that he could barely believe it was him. Arthur had always been an efficient worker, but never like this.

"I'm so close," Arthur whispered as he grabbed a smaller brush to add more texture to Alfred's hair. He wanted it to look just like he had seen it that day, unkempt and beautiful. Every little detail brought him back to that day in the park, and the more he went back to that day, the more he longed to go back to it, even if it was just for a moment. To see Alfred, _actual_ Alfred, smiling and laughing in the sunshine, would be wonderful.

Arthur was determined to finish the eyes last. Alfred's eyes had captivated him from the moment he peered into them, and he wanted them to not only be the first thing he saw that day, but the last thing he painted.

Painting had its side effects though, and Arthur grumbled through a splitting headache. He hadn't bothered to sleep much, and the smell of paint overwhelmed his senses. He'd done long, tiring painting sessions before, but never this grueling. The cold attic made his body shiver, and some of the time he had to go downstairs to make himself a warm cup of tea. He would hold his hands on the outside of the cup gently to warm his frozen fingers. Still, all of that didn't matter to Arthur as much as his painting did. None of it mattered as much as Alfred.

Arthur had never minded being alone before. Being alone meant he could do things his own way. It meant he could wake up late, make as much tea as he wanted, and paint until the sun rose in the morning. It meant peace, and order.

But Alfred meant something else. Alfred meant joy, and adventure, and a rosy-cheeked dance in the candlelight. It meant waking up early, but staying in bed to hear Alfred's heart beat in his chest. It meant holding hands, but only because if he didn't, he might lose him in the crowds as he rushed through with a smile on his face and a chuckle in his throat. It meant happiness. Alfred meant love.

Arthur sighed. He wanted to see Alfred so badly, and not just in a dream. He wanted to go back to the park, and bump into him again. Maybe if he could do it again, he would of asked Alfred to stay longer.

Arthur had never noticed how truly lonely he was until he was without Alfred, and it hurt him deeply to know that he might never see him ever again.

-Small time skip-

Arthur could barely believe his eyes. In front of him, smiling, was a perfect painting of Alfred. Every small detail, his hair, his eyes, his jacket, they were perfect. Arthur almost felt like he could touch him.

"You did well," Alfred said suddenly. Arthur glanced around confusedly. Where has the sound come from? To his shock, he looked back and noticed the painting _move._ Arthur screeched, falling off his stool and onto the hard wood floor.

"What was that?" Arthur moaned, rubbing his sore behind and scowling. Arthur was sure that the lack of sleep and smell of paint must be getting to him. After all, it had been days, and Arthur wasn't looking very good. His hair was a mess, and he was covered in paint. "I better take a shower and rest," muttered Arthur to himself. He put down his brush properly after it had fallen on the floor, and hung up his apron. Arthur reached the door of the attic and sighed. _It's almost finished,_ Arthur thought. He could almost picture Alfred, smiling, as he stared at the painting in awe and appreciation, and the thought made him smile.

After a relaxing bath and cup of tea, Arthur realized how truly tired he was. He had almost fallen asleep in the bath, and now he felt like he hadn't slept in weeks. Arthur collapsed onto a pile of blankets and pillows and smiled. He missed Alfred. It hurt to only have that one chance to see him, and no matter how many times Alfred appeared in his dreams, he still wasn't satisfied.

Soon, Arthur drifted off to sleep, and dreams of Alfred filled his brain with joy. Nothing was better, and it felt like, even if it was just for now, everything was perfect. But soon, Arthur awoke, and Alfred slipped once again from sight. No matter how many times it happened, it still hurt deeply.

 _Might as well get back to painting,_ Arthur thought. The sooner he finished the better. After grabbing a snack, Arthur trudged up the narrow stairway to the attic, humming to himself. When he finally opened the door however, what Arthur saw made him drop his food in shock.

"A-Alfred?" Arthur screeched, embarrassed that his voice had cracked while doing so. No, it had to be another dream. How else could Alfred be here, standing in front of his-

Arthur looked at the painting in shock. It was completely empty. No Alfred, no bomber jacket, nothing. It might as well have been an empty canvas. _But how?_ Arthur was perplexed. None of this made any sense.

"Heya," Alfred answered happily. The look on his face made it impossible to tell exactly what he was thinking, which only made things worse for Arthur. "It's so good to see you. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," Arthur replied confusedly. Something wasn't right. He had to find out if he was dreaming. _The mirror._ Arthur had read somewhere that in dreams, you can't see your own reflection. He dashed quickly past Alfred and looked into the mirror, and was disappointed to see, or, not see, that he wasn't there.

"You're not real," Arthur said trembling. "You're from the painting." His lip quivered, and tears filled his eyes. _Just like last time_ , Arthur thought. _You show up, and you leave, that's how it goes._

"You're right, I'm not," Alfred said sadly, fidgeting in his bomber jacket. "But believe me, I _will_ see you. Don't give up."

"What good is there not to?" Arthur moaned. "Every time it's the same. But you're not real, I'll never see you again. I should just forget I ever saw you."

"No, please, don't forget me," Alfred pleaded. "I could never forget you, so please, just wait for me."

"How long long is that supposed to take," Arthur said. "Days, months, years? You're an American, Alfred. You came here for a trip, it's not like I'll just bump into you one day while at the market, complaining about eggs. You're not coming back."

"I am, please, just trust me," Alfred pleaded. The despair and helplessness on his face hurt Arthur's heart. Here was Alfred, the man of his dreams, and he couldn't even promise that he'd remember him. He felt absolutely terrible. Arthur knew that, in reality, he could never forget him, even if he tried.

"I-I trust you," Arthur replied. "I want to believe you Alfred, because if I didn't, I'd never feel the same again."

Alfred smiled. "I'll see you soon then," he said warmly. Arthur nodded, gulping down his sobs of loneliness. _Just like every time. You tell me to trust you, and you leave._

Arthur awoke sobbing in his bed. Each new dream left a new sting, and it only made Arthur miss Alfred even more. Why couldn't he just forget about him? Arthur was sure it would hurt much less than losing him every night.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Arthur sighed deeply. It had to be Mrs. Johnson with another baked good. Even in his distressed state, the thought of Mrs. Johnson's delicious food lifted Arthur's spirit, and he quickly fixed himself up and ran downstairs, looking in the mirror in the front entry hall with disapproval. He had taken a bath, but his hair still looked like a mess. Regardless, Arthur opened the door.

 _No, this can't be. Wake me up, please._

"Uh, hey, Mr. Kirkland," said a familiar glasses bearing face. "It's Alfred, Alfred F. Jones."

Author's note: thanks for reading guys, I'm sorry this one took a while. I got sick, but I'm feeling better! Big thanks to those on Instagram for encouraging me!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 _This can't be happening._ Arthur had envisioned this scenario so many times that everything about it felt fake, and yet, here Alfred was, on the steps of his home, sheepishly grinning and shuffling nervously.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Kirkland," Alfred started, snapping Arthur out of his state of shock. "It's just that, you dropped your phone in the park when we bumped into each other, and I thought I should, ya know, return it I guess? Sorry about the delay I hope you weren't too worried about it."

"It's quite fine, don't fret about it," Arthur replied absentmindedly. In all honesty, he had been too busy to notice that his phone had even been missing in the first place. Besides, he had a bigger issue on his mind. How had Alfred known where he lived?

It seemed he didn't have to wonder for long, because Alfred continued talking. "Sorry if it seems creepy, but I asked that lady you were talking to if you if she knew where you lived, and apparently she's your next door neighbor, huh?"

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, she's my neighbor, but how did you know to talk to her?" Arthur questioned.

Alfred blushed profusely and shuffled some more. "Well, I was kinda watching you when I first saw you in the park. I'm not a stalker, I swear, I just got distracted when I saw you and that's why I bumped into you. I didn't want to say it at the time, but I was too busy thinking and staring into space to watch where I was going. Sorry 'bout that."

Arthur could barely believe what he was hearing. Here he was, barely able to keep his mind off Alfred, and Alfred had been doing the same thing in the park. "Why were you staring at me?" Arthur asked nervously. He didn't want to mess this up, but he was also curious at the same time..

This made Alfred even more nervous. He just stood there, shuffling and staring at the steps of the porch. "Well, um, I was kinda…"

Alfred trailed off, but it should've been obvious to anyone what was going on. Unfortunately, Arthur was so nervous himself that he didn't seem to connect the dots. Still, he felt bad for Alfred. "Want to come in for a cup of tea? I have lots," Arthur said.

Alfred smiled. "Oh! Uh, yeah, that sounds great! Are you sure I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Oh, just my painting session," Arthur replied casually. _Sh*t. I shouldn't have said that. How do you casually tell someone you've been spending every waking hour laboring over a painting of their face?_

"You paint?" Alfred smiled, his face lighting up. "That's so cool! I'm not the best artist, but man, that's awesome!"

"Oh, yeah," Arthur said. _Come on, change the topic._

Before Arthur could do anything, Alfred kept talking. "What kind of paintings do you do?"

"Oh, just landscapes mostly," Arthur muttered. "This one's a portrait though. Anyway, what kind of tea do you want?"

"Oh, whatever, I'm not very picky," Alfred replied. Arthur could tell he still hadn't gotten Alfred's mind off the painting. _Think of something, now._

"So, how's your trip been going? You said you were here for a… senior trip?"

"Late senior trip, yeah," Alfred replied. It's been pretty great, I've seen everything I wanted to."

"Have you loved everything you've seen so far?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah," Alfred said, staring directly into Arthur's eyes. "I've loved y- the stuff I've seen so far, it's been great."

Arthur blushed and turned back around to his kettle. _He didn't mean it like that, stop thinking that way._

Luckily, Arthur didn't have to think about it for long. "Sorry, but can I use your bathroom?"Alfred asked.

"Of course," Arthur replied, glad that Alfred had changed the subject. "It's just down the hall."

"Thanks," the American responded, and walked briskly away.

Arthur was working so distractedly that he had burned his hand on the kettle twice. His nerves felt beyond shot. Alfred, who he had been dreaming about all this time, was in his home.

After a few minutes, Arthur began to worry. _He sure has been gone for a while. I should make sure he's okay,_ Arthur thought. He walked down the hall to find the bathroom door ajar. Not only that, but the attic door was open as well.

 _Oh no, please don't say he went up there._ Arthur hurried upstairs, and found Alfred standing still in the doorway, unmoving.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked nervously.

Alfred jumped. "Oh, yeah, sorry. I just smelled the paint and got curious, I'm so sorry." Alfred walked forward and little and stared and the ceiling and took a deep breath, which made Arthur cringe a little. The last thing he needed was for Alfred to inhale too many paint fumes.

"It's alright, I just got worried when you hadn't returned," Arthur muttered. Had he left the door open? He couldn't believe he could be this stupid.

"Sorry for worrying you. I just was amazed by this place. It's so cool. You paint here a lot?" Alfred asked.

"Almost all the time," Arthur admitted. This place was his sanctuary, his cloister from everything terrible in the world.

"Wow," Alfred breathed. He stood there amazed. Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief. _Maybe he hasn't seen the painting yet, there's still time to go down and pretend this never happened._

Alfred words broke Arthur's thoughts. "But, uh, that portrait over there, is that… me?"

 _Oh no._ He had seen it. _What can I possibly tell him? That I love him? How utterly ludicrous, there's no way in hell I could tell a practical stranger that._

"Oh, that?" Arthur responded? "Well, that's just- well you see…"

"It's okay," Alfred interrupted, smiley warmly. "You don't have to explain. I love it."

"I'm sorry- wait, you do?"

"Yeah, your art is exceptional! I can't believe you made that. I mean, it looks just like me," Alfred continued.

Arthur couldn't believe it. He expected Alfred to be take this completely wrong, but instead, he was complimenting his work.

"Thank you," Arthur stuttered.

"You even got my jacket right!" Alfred beamed. "Man, I was sure you were amazing, but now I'm positive!"

Arthur was taken aback. "You thought I was amazing?"

"Well, yeah," Alfred said embarrassedly. "That's why I was staring. I mean, you looked so proper, and handsome too. I could barely believe it."

"You thought _I_ was the handsome one?" Arthur laughed. _Oh no, this is all coming out wrong, get control of yourself_.

"Well, yeah, have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Arthur huffed. "Last time I checked, I have paint on my cheek and a bird's nest for hair."

"Yeah, you do," Alfred chuckled. "But it's cute."

 _Cute? Did he really just say that?_ Arthur shook his head. Everything about this felt so beautiful, it didn't even feel real.

"I.. I guess I made the painting for the same reason."

Alfred turned a shade of bright red. "What!? Stop messing with me."

"I'm not," Arthur said. He groaned inwardly. _I can't believe I'm actually saying all of this._

The two stood there awkwardly, both refusing to look into the other's eyes. Suddenly, a high pitched squeal started ringing through their ears.

Alfred jumped and looked around. "What's that!?"

Arthur groaned. "Hell, the kettle. Quick, let's get downstairs." As they rushed towards the kitchen, Arthur cursed. _Thanks for ruining the moment, oh valiant tea gods._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

~one month later~

Alfred stretched and rubbed his eyes. His sloppy blond hair was unkempt and fairly dirty, and his glasses only stuck to his face by sweat alone. Needless to say, Alfred F. Jones didn't care much for appearances. Still, he rubbed his eyes and checked the time.

"12:30, August 15, 20XX," he read aloud. He let out a sigh. "Arthur's gonna kill me if I show up to the park late. Guess it's a thirty second shower for me again today," not that he was too disappointed about the short shower in the first place.

Alfred got up, showered, brushed his still messy hair, adjusted his thin-brimmed glasses, and put on jeans, and t-shirt, and, his favorite, the worn, brown, leather bomber jacket he loved so dearly. Even though it irritated Arthur exceedingly, it was Alfred's favorite thing he owned, and he wore it practically every day. He grabbed a doughnut, shoved it in his mouth, and ran out the door towards the small park next to his hotel and Arthur's home. Being late for the umpteenth time in a row wasn't a very good idea, and he wanted to make the best impression he could, even though he felt like he wasn't doing a very good job.

Much unlike Alfred, Arthur was very punctual and cared quite a bit for appearances, and had taken to often critiquing Alfred on his, which always made Alfred laugh. Only fancy slacks, vests, and proper hygiene for Arthur, unless he was in a busy painting session. Still, no matter how hard he tried, his blond hair was still quite unkempt, which irritated him to no end. While they had their differences, there was no one that Arthur loved more. Arthur sighed, adjusting his bag, and looking around anxiously for Alfred.

Not long after Arthur began to do so, Alfred came rushing towards him, out of breath, with a mouth full of sprinkles and a hint of orange juice. He stopped, waved, smiling faintly, and sat on the grass in an attempt to catch his breath.

"You're late Alfred," Arthur retorted, somewhat irritatedly. Not that he was surprised. In all the times they had met at this park since their meeting, Alfred had never been on time.

"Ya think?" Alfred forced out, still breathing heavily. He regained his breath, stood up, and laughed. "Hey, just like last week, huh?"

"Yes, just like last week, and the week before that, and the week prior to that as well. Honestly, can't you get up before twelve?" Arthur scoffed. Still, seeing Alfred's face week after week made Arthur beam.

"Nah, too much work. Unless it's a holiday or there's free food, then count me in!" Alfred grinned, making Arthur role his eyes. _How childish,_ Arthur thought. Yet all of Alfred's antics never failed to make Arthur smile, though he hated to admit it.

"Whatever, Alfred. Can we go do something? I'm bored of standing and looking at you catch your breath."

Alfred laughed some more. He did a lot, and it was never a quiet laugh either, no matter the place or occasion, if Alfred was laughing, it was loud and boisterous, but it had something sweet about it.

"Bloody? That's a new one," he mused, smirking at Arthur, who was now a very flattering beet red.

"You're just mad I have a better vocabulary then you, Mr. "I call everyone dude because it's the only word I know". I really wonder if you've ever picked up a book Alfred," remarked Arthur somewhat haughtily, though he was a bit embarrassed by Alfred's comment.

"Hey, I know other words besides dude! And just last week I was reading the comics in that paper you gave me!"

Arthur laughed sarcastically. "Well, I can see you have great rhetoric, don't you? Let's get going, shall me?"

"Sure dude," Alfred responded, covering his mouth after realizing what he had said. This time, Arthur's laugh was genuine, and Alfred soon joined him in his laughter as they walked hand in hand.

Ever since that day in Arthur's house, the two had become best friends. It was a little awkward at first, when they both didn't know how to respond to their strong feelings, but now they trusted each other completely. Almost a month had passed, and it had been the best time of Arthur's life. Everything Alfred said, everything he did, made Arthur fall deeper and deeper in love with him.

"Look, there's the place," Alfred smiled, pointing towards a tree in front of them. He let go of Arthur's hand and rushed towards it.

Arthur stood there for a minute, holding the hand that had been grasping Alfred's. He had done it so subconsciously that he had barely realized he had done it in the first place. The memory of the warmth of Alfred's hand in his made him smile as he continued towards the spot where Alfred was excitedly jumping in anticipation.

"Look, this is it, the place where we first met!" Alfred exclaimed happily. Arthur smiled. He had never failed to notice how adorable and childish Alfred looked whenever he got excited.

"It feels like forever ago," Arthur admitted. He had become so dependent on Alfred's constant presence and touch that he could barely comprehend his life without it.

"Doesn't it?" Alfred smiled. He grabbed Arthur's hand again and the two sat down on the grass in front of the towering tree. Arthur watched Alfred close his eyes and smile. Arthur had noticed that every time Alfred wanted to remember something, he always closed his eyes and and took a deep breath. The small gesture never failed to make Arthur fall even deeper in love with him.

Soon, Arthur closed his eyes as well, and the two sat hand in hand in perfect silence. The smell of the August air and warm breeze put a small smile on his face as he began to rest his head on Alfred's shoulder. Arthur could feel that Alfred has taken notice, but Alfred's only response was a small squeeze of his hand.

Suddenly, Arthur felt a warmth on his forehead that made him open his eyes, and was surprised to see Alfred's lips kissing his forehead gently.

"W-what are you doing?" Arthur stammered. It had come so suddenly that he wasn't sure how to react, and he still wasn't completely familiar with his feelings.

Alfred leaned back and smiled. "Sorry, did I scare you? You just looked so cute sitting there that I had to kiss you."

"You could have at least asked," Arthur said blushing, touching the spot where Alfred had kissed on his forehead and trying not to grin.

"Alright," Alfred said grinning. He grabbed Arthur's hand and looked firmly into his eyes, making Arthur blush harder. "Arthur, may I kiss you?"

"Yes," Arthur whispered. He closed his eyes as he felt Alfred's lips interlock with his, and sighed. Everything about this kiss, everything about Alfred, was more beautiful than he could ever imagine.

Soon, their lips parted as they stared once again into each other's eyes. Alfred rest his head on Arthur's shoulder and whispered into his ear. "I love you, Arthur Kirkland."

Arthur smiled softly and laid his head on Alfred's shoulder, taking a deep breath to capture the smell of Alfred in his mind for all eternity. "Alfred F. Jones, I'm in love with you."

Author's Note: Well, that's the end for now! It was great writing this story, and I absolutely love everyone who supported me while writing it! Writing has always been a wonderful way for me to get my mind off of my anxiety, and I'm so glad that I could share this short story with everyone!


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